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APPENDIX. 
Joy, rose-lipped dryad, loves to dwell 
In sunny field or mossy cell; 
Delights on echoing hills to hear 
The reaper’s song, or lowing steer, 
Or view, with tenfold plenty spread, 
The crowded cornfield, blooming mead; 
While beauty, health, and innocence 
Transport the eye, the soul, the sense. 
* * * * 
Nymphs of the groves, in green arrayed, 
Conduct me to your thickest shade, 
Deep in the bosom of the vale, 
Where haunts the lonesome nightingale; 
Where Contemplation, maid divine, 
Leans against some aged pine, 
Wrapped in solemn thought profound, 
Her eyes fixed steadfast on the ground. 
0, Virtue’s nurse, retired queen, 
By saints alone and hermits seen, 
Beyond vain mortal wishes wise, 
Teach me St. James’s to despise; 
For what are crowded courts but schools 
For fops, or hospitals for fools ? 
Where slaves and madmen, young and old. 
Meet to adore some calf of gold! ” 
In a similar strain Dyer says,— 
“ Be full, ye courts, be great who will; 
Search for Fcaee with all your skill; 
Open wide the lofty door, 
Seek her on the marble floor , 
